The Secret Princess (17 page)

“A wise decision.” Luke nodded, satisfied with the conclusion of the matter and pleased that he wouldn’t have to personally ride back to negotiate further. Warrick had proven
to be more trustworthy and far wiser than his father. Luke doubted the Illyrian prince had taken him to the caves to trap him, but there was no undoing the events that had passed. “After the Frankish siblings have rested, they must travel to Castlehead to be presented to my brother.”

“I can ready a party to escort them. Will you be accompanying them?”

Luke pondered Gregory’s question.
He’d have liked to be done with the matter already, to have Evelyn and Bertie safely out of sight on Mark’s ship, sailing away to their homeland, where he would never see them again. But there was the matter of presenting them to King John.

Given his feelings about the way Evelyn had kept the secret from him, Luke knew he owed his brother the full truth, delivered in person. And while he
had confidence Renwick could deliver the message accurately, Luke’s conscience goaded him. By rights, he ought to make the introductions and explain the matter to John. To send Renwick in his place seemed cowardly.

Luke knew what he ought to do, though he didn’t want to do it. “I’ll go with them, as well. The sun is only now rising. If we set out later this afternoon, we’ll arrive at Castlehead
before sunset. Tell the men to be ready to depart then.”

“Six men and nine horses, then?” Gregory clarified.

“Six men,” Luke agreed, still pondering the rest. Nine horses would be a mount for each of them—the six soldiers, plus Luke, Evelyn and Bertie each on their own mount. Castlehead sat at the end of a peninsula that connected with the mainland at the city of Sardis. Once their party
was on the road to Castlehead, the Frankish siblings would have nowhere to escape except the rocky seashore or the city of Sardis itself. Either way, he could recapture them quickly.

“And nine horses,” Luke decided finally. He could position his men to keep Evelyn and Bertie apart yet hemmed in by Lydian soldiers on all sides. It would have to be enough. He couldn’t bear the thought of sharing
a horse with Evelyn again, not given the effect she had on him. “That should do quite well. Thank you, Gregory.”

* * *

Evelyn knew she ought to be grateful for the many kindnesses the Lydians had shown her. She and Bertie had been given new clothes—to her relief, not a fine gown like the dress she’d worn to dinner with Luke and Warrick previously but a much more practical garment with
a draped, pleated skirt for riding. The garments were vastly superior to anything her grandfather had ever given them to wear. They’d been well fed and now wore new leather shoes.

Even the parcel that contained their inheritance—the jewels Bertie had gone back to Fier to fetch—had been returned to them. None of the contents were missing.

Still, as the afternoon sun cast its golden rays
under a bank of clouds, turning the city of Sardis and the outlying peninsula a vibrant, glowing yellow, Evelyn felt cold dread grip her.

They rode to their deaths.

Whatever promises Luke had made to her, Evelyn knew he wasn’t the ultimate authority. He was taking her and Bertie to present them to King John. She couldn’t imagine the sovereign would let them live.

Nor was Luke taking
any chances that she and her brother might escape again. He’d given them each a horse, yes, but not until the animals they were to ride were tethered on either side to his soldiers’ mounts. Short of putting her and Bertie in chains, there was little else Luke could have done to make it any clearer that they were his prisoners, and they rode a gloomy march to their deaths.

She watched him
now as he addressed his men in Lydian, his words unfamiliar and yet not completely unintelligible. He gestured firmly with his arms as though visibly hedging them in. His message was clear. The soldiers were to hem them in on every side to prevent them from escaping.

And then he spoke a phrase which must have been the same in Lydian as Illyrian, because she understood with utter clarity.

“Not to be trusted.”

Evelyn met Luke’s eyes as he spoke. He pointed at her.

A moment later they started out, but she felt the condemnation of his words clinging to her with all the ferocity that had simmered in his eyes. He didn’t trust her. He never would again, not after the secret she’d kept from him.

She hung her head as they rode, shame and sorrow weighing her down. There
was no point trying to escape. She deserved whatever punishment she faced—not because of what her father had done but because of what she’d done.

No matter how heartfelt her apology to Luke, she couldn’t undo the past. She couldn’t raise the dead or bring back his father.

They rode slowly and yet arrived at the beautiful fortress of Castlehead all too quickly. The clouds that had reflected
back the golden sunlight earlier now swarmed thick and ominous above them, swirling to gray, blocking out the light of the sun, casting an unnatural darkness over the pale limestone walls.

Bertie caught her eyes for just a moment before they rode through the front gate. He didn’t appear to be nearly as frightened or as sorrowful as she felt. In fact, his face bore mostly curious hope.

That fact encouraged her slightly. They might be going to their deaths, but at least Bertie didn’t realize it yet. Hopefully it would all be over so quickly that Bertie felt no terror.

They waited, surrounded by Luke’s men, as the prince disappeared through a doorway. Some moments later he returned for them, his expression stern, his pallor ill. It seemed Prince Luke dreaded this audience
almost as much as she did.

Luke led them, still flanked by guards, into the great hall, where a fire burned brightly at one end of the room, warding off the chill that had descended with the swirling clouds. Two engraved thrones were situated nearest the blaze, occupied by two crowned figures. Evelyn recognized the queen Gisela, one of the Emperor Charlemagne’s daughters. Evelyn had seen
her before in Aachen, though that had been many long years ago.

The queen’s eyes rested on her for just a moment. She showed no sign of surprise or of question. Queen Gisela seemed almost as though she expected them.

The other throne held a broad-shouldered, dark-haired figure. King John. His resemblance to Luke was unmistakable.

Prince Luke bowed to the pair, and Evelyn sank to
her knees and stayed there. Bertie bowed beside her and stayed down, as well. Prince Luke began his speech in Lydian.

Evelyn could make out little of his words—the occasional cognate or name, including that of her father. And yet neither the king nor the queen displayed any sign of surprise or anger. She’d expected them to become furiously angry, to curse and throw things and dive at them
with blades drawn, but they only sat still, their expressions sad but not overly upset.

Still bowed low before them, Evelyn nonetheless bent her head upward to watch the royal pair. How many times had her grandfather flown into a fit of fury simply because his dinner was delayed or a messenger had brought news about the Lydians? Once, she’d been given a horrible beating for giving a bone
with meat still clinging to it to her brother instead of to the king’s dogs. She’d long assumed it was the way of kings to scream and shout. They were leaders. Wasn’t that how leaders were supposed to behave?

But John and Gisela did not raise their voices. When King John finally spoke, it was only to ask Evelyn in Frankish if she and her brother understood Latin.

“Not well,” she admitted
in Frankish, her voice trembling so much she could hardly produce enough volume to be heard in the echoing chamber. “It has been many years since we have heard that tongue.”

“Illyrian, then?” the king offered next. “I would address you in Frankish, but I want my brother to understand all I have to say.”

“We’re quite fluent in Illyrian, Your Majesty.”

King John rose from his throne
and came to stand in front of Bertie. Luke stood on Bertie’s left, and Evelyn bowed at Bertie’s right.

“My brother told me many months ago of a mysterious pale-haired woman who saved his life at Bern. I inspected the handiwork myself and was quite impressed. Still, no one knew of this woman, but he could not forget her, and my wife and I prayed she would be found.

“When my brother reported
that he had found you, the queen and I both observed his joy and could not help but wonder about your identity. On his next visit, we learned you were of Frankish origins, from Aachen, and that your name is Evelyn.”

As she stayed bent low before him, to Evelyn’s shock, the king crouched in front of her and looked her full in the face for one long moment.

“It was at this time that my
wife remembered a pale-haired girl named Evelyn who had lived near the palace in Aachen, who had a younger brother, as Luke had informed us you did. Though the girl’s family was noble, her father was a rebel who’d been banished from the Holy Roman Empire, who took his children with him when he was sent away.”

King John’s voice grew sad. “We realized then that you and your brother were almost
certainly Rab the Raider’s children.”

The king looked at her again, silent, and Evelyn felt her heart beating madly as though it might burst. She wished he would draw his sword that very moment and end the waiting, but at the same time, his gentle nature and calm countenance made her feel the tiniest sliver of hope.

She found her voice but could only muster up a whisper. “I am sincerely
sorry for what my father did.”

“It is not your crime to apologize for.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Bertie spoke up beside her.

“Nor is it your crime, Rabertus.”

Evelyn started at the king’s words. What could he possibly mean?

Chapter Seventeen

L
uke could remain silent no longer. “So, you knew?”

John stood. “Gisela didn’t realize the truth until after you’d left. We were going to tell you when next we saw you, but you have not been to Castlehead between then and now, and it wasn’t the sort of message I wanted to entrust to a messenger.”

“Why ever not? I should have liked to have known as soon
as possible.” Luke felt his anger rising. His brother had known? How much heartache—how many kisses—might Luke have been spared if only he’d known sooner? Evelyn wasn’t the only one who’d kept the truth from him. John and Gisela had stayed silent far too long, as well.

“We did not realize you’d be away so long. And besides—” John cast his wife a sly smile, and Luke recalled that Gisela spoke
nearly fluent Illyrian, as well, having once been engaged to Warrick “—we wanted to gauge your reaction for ourselves.”

Luke took a step back from his brother but kept his eyes trained on him. “Why?”

Gisela spoke from the throne. “It was obvious to us from the first moment that you care deeply for this woman. But the crimes of her father were great enough to destroy all the affection
between you.”

“It is not for the crimes of her father that I hold her in disdain this day.” Luke’s anger swelled. “She purposefully kept the truth from me. The two of you have committed the same crime.”

“We did not intend to offend you, Luke.” John extended one hand toward him as though to place it on his shoulder.

Luke stepped back, angry enough to leave the room except that he
had yet to accomplish what he’d come for. “These two are to be returned to Aachen to their mother’s family, if any remains.”

“Last I was in Aachen they were all alive and well,” Gisela assured him. “But if that has since changed, I can promise you my father will see to their welfare. They are our extended relatives, and it was because of my father’s sentence on theirs that they have been
so long gone from their homeland.”

The queen’s well-measured words soothed Luke’s anger just enough to allow him to finish what he had to say. “Good. See to their needs. Provide for them. This woman saved my life once.” As he spoke, he backed toward the door.

John followed. “Where are you going?”

“I cannot stay here among so many who withhold the truth from me. Warrick has asked
for my guidance in dealing with matters along the border. How much more does he need me now that his father is dead? I shall go to Fier. They may not be Christians there, but I can trust them more than I trust you, my brother.”

“Luke—” John started after him, but Luke had a head start and his horse had yet to be unsaddled from the ride from Sardis.

Luke took the reins from the stable
boy who held them. He’d mounted the horse by the time his brother reached his side.

“Do not be angry with me, brother. I meant you no ill will.” John looked up at him.

“Whether you meant it or not, your choice has cut me deeply.” Luke maneuvered his horse around to face the gate.

But John held tight to his cloak. “Your anger exceeds my crime.”

Luke shook off his brother’s words
in silence and urged his horse forward, so that John’s grip pulled free. Quickly, Luke rode through the gate before his brother could have him shut in. He spurred his horse to a gallop and made haste for Sardis.

The gathering clouds grew dark above him, rumbling with distant thunder. Soon it would storm.

* * *

Evelyn rose from the floor on trembling legs, still unsure what had happened.
Luke was angry, but King John was not. And it seemed increasingly likely that she and Bertie were not to be punished at all but allowed to travel home. Her heart rose with cautious hope.

“Come.” Queen Gisela took her hand, speaking in Frankish now as she led her across the courtyard to another wing of the castle complex. “There is a ship that will be leaving for the north in two days. You
have many preparations to make before then.”

“Your Majesty.” Evelyn felt shocked that the queen would speak to her kindly, let alone assist her. “What of our crimes?”

“To my knowledge you haven’t committed any.”

“But my father—”

“The Bible specifically instructs Christians not to punish children for the sins of their fathers. King John had the verses searched and read to him
when we realized who you are. It’s in Ezekiel, one of the prophets in the Old Testament. So you see, the law is very old, far predating the vengeance code of the Illyrians.”

Evelyn found she was too stunned to cry and hardly believed the queen’s words could be true. She hesitated as Gisela led her from the great hall. “But I withheld the truth from Prince Luke.”

“As did I. From the moment
he spoke your name, I recalled the girl you were in Aachen, but I could not believe that you might be the same, nor did I dare mention the possibility until I’d had time to review all I knew and reach a conclusion with certainty. By then he was gone.” Queen Gisela shook her head. “And it seems from his reaction that we were wise to keep the truth from him, for even now he is not yet ready to
hear it.”

Evelyn followed the queen as she led her and Bertie down a hall, through doors to the courtyard and back into a wing of rooms on the other side, where she called for a team of maids to help them.

* * *

Two days later, when Evelyn and Queen Gisela were alone for a moment as they made their final preparations for the journey, Evelyn gathered her courage to ask the question
that burned inside her. “Your Majesty?”

“Yes?”

“Why did Prince Luke react so strongly? He is furious with me, and yet you and King John have been so kind. I’m confused.”

“I cannot speak for the prince, but it is obvious his feelings for you run very deep.”

“His feelings? His anger, you mean?”

The queen smiled a very kind smile, and Evelyn could see clearly Charlemagne’s
wise eyes as she looked at Gisela. “His anger is the lie he tells himself in order to disguise his true feelings. He feels hurt and betrayed, yes, but he is a very independent man. I think he is frightened by how much he cares for you. He prefers to focus on his anger rather than allow himself to appear weak.”

Evelyn nodded, the queen’s words resonating with what she knew about the prince.
“He is a soldier. He is used to fighting. He would sooner die than admit defeat.”

“Your father was Prince Luke’s greatest enemy. Though Luke cares for you, that long-seated animosity may be too great for him to overcome.” Gisela offered her a sad smile.

“What can I do?” Evelyn felt the desperation of her circumstances. She hated to leave Luke knowing he was angry with her, and yet she’d
longed for so many years to return to her homeland. If he’d asked her to stay, she would have, gladly. But he’d made it clear he didn’t wish to ever see her again.

“If I knew any advice to give you, I would, but the enemy Luke is fighting now is inside him, and there is nothing more you can do to touch it. It is between Luke and God. All you can do now is pray for him.” Gisela patted her
hand. “Go to Aachen. Find your family. Make a life there and forget about Luke, if you can.”

Evelyn nodded, grateful for the queen’s wisdom and all the woman had done to help her, when she needn’t have shown her any kindness at all. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

In a short time everything was ready, and Evelyn followed her brother to the ship that would take them home. Bertie was ecstatic
and ran about thanking everyone heartily, leaping and beaming. Evelyn tried to mirror his enthusiasm, but her heart felt heavy. Gisela had advised her to forget about Luke. She knew the queen’s advice was wise and she would do well to follow it.

But what if her heart refused to forget him?